


Wanted

by cutelittlekitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bounty Hunter Dean Winchester, Criminal Castiel (Supernatural), Destiel - Freeform, Fic Facer$ Charity Auction 2020 (Supernatural), Handcuffs, M/M, NSFW, Oneshot, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26769556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutelittlekitty/pseuds/cutelittlekitty
Summary: Dean Winchester is the (self proclaimed) best bounty hunter in the business. As such, it makes sense that he only goes after the best bounties. His current quarry, known only as the Dark Angel, made his way onto the ten most wanted list despite having never killed anyone, or even caused injury. The closest he’s ever come was shooting the button off a guard’s uniform in warning. But despite the non-violent nature of his crimes, the Angel has stolen nearly three billion dollars in a series of armored truck heists, earning him the number 7 spot on the most wanted list, along with a high bounty. Dean is determined to take the man in. Fate is determined he will succeed, but maybe not in the way he meant.
Relationships: castiel (supernatural)/Dean Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 69
Collections: FicFacer$ 2020





	Wanted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyHawke72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHawke72/gifts).



> Fic Facer$ 2020! At least the year’s not a total loss, right? We still have fan fiction and charity! This year’s story is dedicated to [Ladyhawke72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHawke72) with much gratitude for both the bid and the patience!
> 
> Huge thanks to [CR Noble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudite12) for putting up with my stubbornness in the face of suggestions and making sure i don’t completely embarrass myself with mistakes! I should point out that I did more editing after the beta, so any mistakes were probably added then.
> 
> A big thanks also to the Golden Bitches for putting up with my whining about writing being so hard :D

“I’ve got you now, you son of a bitch!” Dean shouted with a whoop as he slammed on the breaks and cut the wheel sharply to the right. Baby, his classic ‘67 Chevy Impala, skidded across the pavement, fishtailing into the alleyway in hot pursuit. 

There was a huff from the speaker phone and Dean could just picture his brother rolling his eyes and making one of his patented bitch faces. “C’mon, Sammy, we’re finally gonna bring ‘im in! You could get a little excited too.”

“It’s Sam. And concentrate on what you’re doing. I don’t feel like listening to you whine if you have to buff scrapes out of your Baby.” He was shouting, but Sam’s voice coming from the phone on the passenger seat was barely audible above the roar of the engine.

“Shut up, Bitch. I don’t whine,” Dean whined.

“Jerk. Just focus on the chase and keep me updated,” Sam replied.

The wiley Dark Angel had slipped Dean’s grasp twice before, but not this time! The tan Lincoln Continental had slowed to navigate the narrow alley and Dean was gaining ground. Of course, neither car was made to squeeze between the cinderblock walls of the buildings on either side, but Dean was out the other end of the tight lane in 20 seconds flat, emerging into an industrial cul de sac surrounded by warehouses.

All of the large, corrugated doors on the buildings were closed and the Lincoln was nowhere in sight despite Dean having been only seconds behind. Movement caught the corner of his eye and he saw a smaller door beside one of the bay doors starting to swing closed. Knowing he’d lose the Angel if he had to waste time picking a lock, Dean threw his car in park and jumped out, making a mad dash and catching the door just before it latched shut. Good. He sure as fuck didn’t want to let the slippery weasel escape his grasp once again.

Keeping the momentum going, Dean slipped through the door and scanned the warehouse quickly. Movement caught his eye, a flap of brown cloth disappearing around a corner on the other side of the large, empty bay. He dashed across the expanse, the soft-close door clicking shut behind him as he ran. Rounding the corner, he found himself in an impossibly long hall, the walls bare, white-painted cinderblock. He felt like he was in slow motion as he sprinted down the hall and rounded the next corner, only to find another long, bare hallway. Winded and disheartened, Dean paused, bent over with his hands on his knees as he heaved in great lungfuls of air. 

A moment later he was off again, heading for the next corner, this one turning to the left. As he ran, Dean idly wondered what the fuck was up with the long-ass corridors with no fucking doors. The halls had to be framing rooms, but how the fuck did you even get into those rooms? Turning the corner, he saw the tail of a light brown coat disappearing at the end of yet another long, white hall. Dean wanted to scream. How was the Dark Angel always so far away? Sammy should have done this mission; he was the one who liked pointless running.

Pulling as much speed as he could from his protesting muscles, Dean readied his beanbag gun in the hopes he could make the next corner fast enough to get a shot off. He didn’t. As he rounded the bend, he found yet another damn corridor and at the end of that, another. A growl of frustration escaped him. There was an answering chuckle from up ahead, and Dean saw the tan coat going through an opening halfway down the hall.

_We’ll see who’s laughing when I put your ass in jail and walk away with that big, fat paycheck,_ Dean thought as he bolted for the opening with a burst of renewed energy. Coming through the entrance, he found himself in a huge, dimly lit warehouse, the ceiling and walls so far away they were lost in darkness. In the center of the cavernous space a single lightbulb hung above a standalone room. The room’s door was bouncing off a wall and just starting to swing shut. Knowing he was closing in on his quarry, Dean made a mad dash for the structure, stopping just inside the doorway when he realized the room was in complete darkness. 

Before he could turn, Dean heard the door slam shut behind him with a _clink_. Spinning and feeling his way back to the door, he tried the knob. Dean sighed in relief as it turned, and the door swung open with a firm push. Then the fact that his other hand rested on metal registered and Dean’s fear rose again. In the diffuse light that spilled through the doorway, he could just barely make out iron bars blocking the entrance. Since they were painted white to match the door they’d been loosely attached to, Dean had overlooked them on his initial dash to the room.

“What the fuck!?” he yelled, feeling for the edges of the bars as his mind ran through options. Pick the lock? Remove the hinges? Go through the wall? Wood and drywall would be much easier to get through than metal. But as he felt along the bars with growing dread, he realized that they continued around the whole room. As he frantically fumbled in the darkness, trying to assess the size of his prison and just how fucked he truly was, Dean tripped, landing on something soft. It seemed to be a mattress. Dean thumped a fist against the padded cushion in frustration, then rested his elbows on bent knees, fingers pushing through his hair as he finally stopping long enough to draw in some deep breaths. He needed to work on his endurance; that chase had really taken it out of him.

Just as he was thinking about going back to feeling his way through the rest of the room, the sound of a machine starting up broke the silence. Wondering what the fuck was going on, Dean pulled out his Colt, checking the clip by feel and pulling the slide back. Machines don’t bleed, but they’re operated by people who do. Nerves on edge, thumb hovering over the safety on his pistol, Dean waited and listened, trying to figure out what was going on.

The machine groaned and whined interminably, then the walls shuddered as light began to seep through between the tops of the walls and the ceiling. With a shuddering _woomph_ , the walls fell away, sending air rushing into Dean’s prison to tousle his hair and dry the sweat from his face. Above him, the ceiling rocked and swayed, momentarily blocking the glow from the high, dangling bulb until the drywall sheet swung away. Dean blinked, quickly dropping his gaze from the unshaded light as he raised his gun toward the source of the noise. The crane, along with whoever was operating it, was hidden in the shadows of the cavernous warehouse.

Eventually, the crane shut off and Dean jumped to his feet, hiding the colt behind his back as he went to the bars closest to where the sound had come from. “What the hell, man? Why the elaborate trap?” he called out.

Dean heard the crane door open, then the rustle and thump of someone getting out and hopping down to the concrete floor. He still couldn’t make out exactly where the sound was coming from. Firing at the darkness would just waste bullets. And possibly get him stuck in the cage until he starved if he accidentally hit a vital spot. Locking the other two safeties in place without needing to look, he slipped the colt back into the waist of his jeans and adjusted his leather jacket to cover it.

“My apologies, Mr. Winchester, but I could think of no other way to stop your interference in my work.” The voice that answered from the darkness was deep and gravelly and sent a shiver up Dean’s spine that he refused to let himself think about.

“How the fuck do you know my name?” Dean demanded.

Silence answered him.

“So what, you’re just gonna keep me locked up in here forever? C’mon, Angel, you can’t do that.”

“Angel?” the gravelly voice asked.

“Yeah. You _are_ the Dark Angel, right? I followed you here from the armored truck you were just robbing.”

“What makes you think I am not some associate of the Dark Angel who was waiting here to help trap you?”

Dean blinked, crossing his arms over his chest as he tried to come up with an answer that didn’t make him sound like an idiot for not having thought of that himself. After all, the trap was pretty complex. It would have been difficult for a lone person to set up. Just because the Dark Angel pulled his heists solo didn’t mean there wasn’t someone helping him behind the scenes. “...Are you?”

“No, I am the one called the Dark Angel by law enforcement. My questioning of the moniker was in regards to you leaving off the ‘Dark’. Saying just ‘Angel’ makes it sound more like an endearment.” The deep, rumbly voice seemed almost hopeful.

Ducking his head to hide his blush, Dean shrugged. “It’s just easier, ‘kay? The Dark Angel is a bit of a mouthful.” Dean groaned as he was answered with another throaty chuckle. “To say! I meant it’s a pain in the ass to say.”

The Dark Angel laughed again. “You’re just digging the hole deeper. I have business to attend to. I’ll bring you some food in a few hours. Until then, there’s a book under the pillow if you want something to do.”

“Wait! You’re just gonna leave me here???”

Silence.

Reaching under the pillow, Dean pulled the paperback out and looked at it. Slaughterhouse-Five. How did the Angel know he liked Vonnegut? Dean loved the book, but screw reading. He was gettin’ out of that cage before the criminal returned, one way or another.

  


* * *

  


Dean woke from a light doze with a start, book sliding from his chest as his eyes scanned the dim circle of illumination and darkness beyond, looking for danger. There was a soft, whirring hum that echoed through the warehouse, making it hard to pinpoint where it was coming from. All he could tell was that the source of the sound was close to the ground, moving, and it seemed to be getting closer.

After being left alone in the cage, Dean had spent quite a while trying to pick the lock before giving it up as a lost cause. There wereso many different pins and tumblers making up the lock, he wasn’t even sure he’d found them all, let alone figured out the correct order to release them in. Dean was good, but he wasn’t _that_ good. 

With the lockpicking option eliminated, he’d examined the prison itself. The bars were cemented into the floor and everything looked like it was forged together. Even at the corners and where the door hinged, the metal had been formed into loops, then a pole inserted through them, and the crossbars welded solidly into the pole. The metal toilet with the built-in sink on top of the tank was also embedded in the cement of the floor. There were no bolts he could unscrew and the metal of the bars was too thick to get through, even if he sawed at it with his knife for months. Dean was well and truly fucked, and not in the fun way.

The whirring drew closer until finally, a small, squat robot rolled into the light. On top of it was a bowl and spoon, a napkin, a bottle of what looked like water, and a capped bottle of beer, beads of condensation dripping down the sides. Suddenly parched, Dean crawled off the mattress and over to where the robot approached. As soon as it was close enough he snatched up the beer, pried off the cap with his ring, and took a long swig, draining half the bottle.

Thirst slaked, he grabbed the bowl and water, bringing them into the cage and sitting cross-legged. The food appeared to be a thick stew with chunks of soft, buttered bread tucked in on the sides. It smelled like heaven.

“How do I know this isn’t poisoned?” Dean asked the darkness as the robot powered down. He didn’t really expect an answer.

“If I’d wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of capturing you,” the gravelly voice of the Dark Angel pointed out from somewhere in the shadows.

Satisfied with that logic, Dean shoveled a mouthful of stew between his lips and moaned over the soft beef and thick carrots.

“Why _did_ you go through the trouble of capturing me?” he asked around his food.

“As I said, I can’t have you interfering in my work.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be easier to just kill me?” Not that Dean had a death wish, but he was hard pressed to understand the Dark Angel’s logic.

“I don’t kill.”

“Yeah, tell that to the dead guard from that last heist, or the one still in the hospital after having a bullet removed from his spine. Docs say he’ll never walk again.”

“That was not me,” the voice growled, and Dean could feel the anger and frustration in the statement.

“The fuck it wasn’t. I was there, remember?” Dean growled back with equal anger. He’d let the Angel slip through his grasp on their first meeting and thanks to that, a man was dead, another crippled for life.

“ _You_ were there. _I_ was not. Dean—may I call you Dean? Or do you prefer Mr. Winchester?” the Angel asked, surprising Dean with his civility.

“Dean’s fine. What about you? Got a real name, or should I stick with ‘Angel’?” Dean asked, hoping to get more to go on for when he got out of there. So far, all the feds had was a grainy pic from a hidden body cam and the fact that he drove an old Lincoln Continental mark V, tan. The plates were fake, and switched for every job. Even Dean had never gotten a good look at the Angel’s face. All he’d seen was the back of a mop of unruly, dark hair and that ugly tan trench coat. No one had come up with a legal name or even a general area of residence for the Dark Angel.

The voice hummed thoughtfully. “I like the way ‘Angel’ sounds when you say it. But if you prefer a name, you may call me… Cas.”

“Cas. Is that short for something?” 

“Perhaps. But back to what I was saying, Dean, when you surprised me three weeks ago, my reactions were a bit slow. Your beanbag gun cracked several of my ribs and I twisted my knee getting away. The next job was only three days later and the shipment absolutely _had_ to be stopped. All I could do was have an associate take my place. Unfortunately, he was a little overzealous toward our cause which produced less than optimal results.” 

The Angel’s voice actually sounded regretful, and Dean wanted to punch him in his stupid, unseen face. It was bad enough when he thought the criminal was only a thief, then worse, a murderer. That was still just a solo operator working for selfish reasons. With the mention of ‘our cause’, he was sounding more like a fanatic with a following, and that was never good. What had Dean gotten himself into?

“Even if it wasn’t you, you’ll still be charged with murder. Anyone gets killed during a heist, everyone who helped is at fault. ‘Cause if they hadn’t done the crime the person wouldn’t’ve died. Doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger,” Dean pointed out. Considering he was eating the heavenly stew and soft buttered bread that tasted fresh baked, his words lacked the venom he’d been going for. It certainly had nothing to do with the relief he ~~_hadn’t_~~ felt when he heard the Angel hadn’t been the one who’d swiftly and brutally taken down those guards with Dean looking on in dismay.

“You are correct, of course. It is as much my fault as it is his. Which is why I didn’t immediately turn Michael over to the authorities. However, he is no longer involved in our work.”

Tucking the name Michael away in his brain for Sammy to look into later, Dean set his empty bowl back on the robot and opened the water. “What exactly is your work? Other than stealing a shit-ton of money?”

“We only steal money that is either being pocketed by individuals it wasn’t meant for or being used nefariously. Then we distribute it to legitimate charities that need the money to help people, not to line the pockets of those running them,” the Angel—Cas—replied.

Dean shook his head, grinding his teeth at the blatant lie. “Yeah, right. I call bullshit. More than half the trucks you hit were transporting money to charities.”

“Yes. Charities that spend twenty percent of donations on advertising, seventy-five percent on ‘administration’, and five percent on charitable works. It is appalling how easily people can prey on the good intentions of others these days.”

“So, what, you’re some kind of modern day Robin Hood?” Dean crushed the empty water bottle and set it inside the bowl.

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“I don’t believe you. How can anyone not know who Robin Hood is? Kevin Costner? Men in tights? That Disney cartoon with the fox? Pretty sure there are even books about him.”

“I am unfamiliar with popular culture. Are those movies?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. When are you going to let me out of here?” Sipping the rest of his beer, Dean peered out into the darkness where the—where Cas’s voice was coming from.

“When I am certain that you will no longer interfere with my work,” came the gravelly reply.

“Soooooo, never?”

“I believe you will come to understand my good intentions in time.”

“You know the road to Hell’s paved with those, right?” Dean commented as he finished the last swig and put the empty beer bottle back on the robot.

“If I can make people’s lives better and hinder those who choose greed over human life, I would suffer Hell and worse, if that was the price.” The robot came to life and whirred away, disappearing into the darkness.

“Seriously?” Dean asked, eyes wide. No one could be that selfless. 

There was no answer from the darkness and Dean was alone once more.

What felt like several hours later, Dean closed his book, rolled onto his side, and shut his eyes. The overhead light bulb turned off seconds later, either on a timer or controlled remotely by someone, leaving Dean in darkness for the night.

  


* * *

  


“How do you even know if any of this is true? It reads like some conspiracy theorist’s wet dream.” Dean had the stacks of printouts spread around him as he moaned his way through a thick burger and hot french fries. The papers had arrived with breakfast and Dean had been reading through them. He and the Angel had talked several times at meals and throughout the day. With each interaction, Dean had found it harder and harder to equate Cas with the criminal Dark Angel. He was intelligent and thoughtful, and Dean was ninety-nine point nine percent sure the guy was telling the truth about Michael having filled in for him on the job where there were casualties. Cas was passionate about the social justice he was working towards, but not violently so.

“It is all true. My hacker is the best,” Cas replied from the darkness.

“He can’t be. ‘Cause _mine’s_ the best,” Dean asserted.

“Your brother is quite good, but not as good as Charlie.”

Hah! Another name for Dean to file away. Sure, they were all first names, but Sam would be able to look for three guys named Charlie, Michael, and Cas who were connected in some way. At least it was more to go on than they’d had. Dean was determined to gather as much information as he could for when he got out of there. ‘Cause even if he couldn’t get himself out, Sam would come to his rescue. And speaking of Sammy...

“How do you know—”

“As I said, my hacker is the best.” 

Dean floundered at the way the Angel seemed to read his mind. They’d only spoken a handful of times so far, but Dean kept feeling wrong-footed. Cas seemed able to talk circles around him and had a reasonable response for every one of Dean’s questions. What was worse was the way he kept wanting to believe the man. And it had nothing to do with the way delighted shivers went up his spine every time he heard the gravelly velvet of that voice. Or at least, not much. It was more the man himself. Dean still hadn’t seen the guy’s face, but Cas’s compassion and conviction came through in his speech. Bounty be damned, he was starting to like the Dark Angel. 

But even if Cas was a good guy, that didn’t mean everyone in his organization was. That was the problem with fringe groups. No matter the original goals, it wasn’t hard for someone to take charge and bend those intentions to their will. Dean needed to find out how many people Cas was working with, how big his operation was, and how much room there was for someone else to take over the driver’s seat.

“Seeing the proof on paper, can you now believe that, regardless of the legality, I am only doing good? Will you go after true criminals instead of me? Or is the bounty on my head too great for your greed to pass up?” Cas asked from somewhere in the darkness. His voice always seemed to come from a different place, every time he spoke.

“Hey, man, I ain’t greedy. Just makin’ a living. And I’m supposed to trust someone who won’t even show his face?” Dean grumbled as he set the empty basket that had held his dinner back on the robot.

“Am I supposed to trust you not to shoot me the moment I step into the light?” Cas retorted.

Fair point. Dean pulled his colt out and set it on the concrete floor, outside the bars. Much as he hated to let his favorite gun go, he wanted to see the Angel’s face. So he’d have something to give a sketch artist later, of course. It had nothing to do with wanting to know if the rest of him was as hot as his voice. Taking a deep breath, he slid the gun away, out of his reach.

“The beanbag gun too. That thing hurts.”

Dean slid the weapon out to join his pistol. “There. Will you let me see you now?”

“And the taser in your jacket’s inside pocket.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean took out the taser and slid it away.

“The knife in your boot, too.”

“Sonofabitch! How do you know—”

A chuckle drifted out of the darkness. “I told you my hacker is the best. I’ve done my homework on you.”

“Fine. Leaving myself completely defenseless here,” Dean grumbled as he held the knife up for Cas to see, then slid it away.

“Oh, Dean. I know that even without weapons you are not defenseless.” 

“Sure. I’ll just protect myself with a wink and a cocky gri—” Dean broke off as the Angel—as Cas—finally stepped into the light. The ugly tan trench coat was nowhere in sight. Instead, he wore loose black cotton pants that caressed thick, runner’s thighs and a faded Rolling Stones tee that hugged his chest and biceps. Gaze continuing up, Dean drank in the sight of a chiseled chin covered in dark stubble, a bow of supple pink lips, and dark eyebrows over piercing blue eyes so vibrant he could see them even from 30 feet away. All framed by mussed waves of dark hair that Dean had the sudden desire to run his fingers through. 

“I know it may be hard to believe, given the circumstances, but you don’t need protection from me. I have no desire to harm you.” Cas’s gravelly voice seemed to have dropped even lower and Dean found himself unable to tear his gaze from the man’s lips.

Mouth gone dry, Dean’s tongue darted out to moisten his lips. “Not wanting to doesn’t mean you won’t,” he replied, the back of his mind pointing out that spontaneous combustion was a thing. But hey, if he burst into flames he’d go right through the bars, considering how hard he was pressed against them. When had he tried to move toward the Angel?

“An unfortunate and accurate truth. Should I, instead, say that I would avoid intentionally hurting you? From the moment I saw you, surging from that big, beautiful car of yours to come after me with single-minded intent, I was entranced. If not for that moment of hesitation I wouldn’t have been injured during our first meeting. There’s just something about you that draws me to you like a moth to a flame.” As he spoke, seemingly without conscious thought, Cas moved closer inch by inch until he was right in front of the bars. “You stir something in me I didn’t even know was there.”

Hand darting out between the bars, Dean grabbed Cas’s arm, eliciting a gasp. As Dean withdrew, Cas frowned, looking down at his wrist. It was encircled by a handcuff, the other end hooked to a bar of the cage.

“Open the door and I’ll uncuff you.” Dean smirked, using cockiness to hide the way his heart pounded at how close the other man was. He wanted Cas so bad, but he’d be an idiot not to take advantage of the Angel’s distraction to earn his freedom.

Cas shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. The lock’s right there. You can reach it,” Dean insisted.

“Yes, I can reach it, but it takes two hands to unlock it. I made sure to get one you wouldn’t be able to pick. But if you release me, I will unlock the cage.” Cas’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and Dean watched, mesmerized. “Dean?”

Shaking his head, Dean pulled himself from his stupor. “No way. The second I let you go, you’ll run.”

“I won’t, Dean. I promise. Unhook the cuff from the bar, and I’ll unlock the door.”

Their eyes met in a poignant gaze that held for long moments as Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Without either noticing, the distance between them lessened until they were only a whisper apart, metal bars pressed between them. Hands moving without direction from his brain, gaze still held with the Angel’s, Dean slowly unlocked the cuff and removed it from the bar, leaving the metal dangling from Cas’s wrist.

Heart in his throat—half expecting to have been lied to—Dean watched Cas, moving with him on his side of the bars as the Angel went to the lock and pulled out two keys. There seemed to be a specific sequence of turns and half turns, some to the right, some to the left. A click eventually signalled the release of the last pins and Cas slowly pulled the door open, standing in the space between Dean and freedom.

Then Cas was stepping inside, closing the door behind him. It locked automatically with a _clink_. Hand fisting in Dean’s shirt, Cas pulled him closer and claimed him. Trembling lips and tongue took advantage of Dean’s gasp of surprise to plunder the depths of his mouth, eliciting a sound somewhere between a whimper and moan. When Cas finally drew back, releasing Dean’s flannel to run a thumb over his cheek and along his jaw, Dean heard a click and followed the sound to see Cas had cuffed their wrists together.

“Cas?”

Looking down at their cuffed wrists, Cas twined his fingers with Dean’s and squeezed. His brows were furrowed in confusion as though he was watching someone else holding hands with Dean and wondering why they did it.

Dean slid his free arm around Cas’s waist, hand at the small of his back to pull him closer, their mutual growing arousal evident even with the cotton and denim between them. “Cas, you want me.” It was almost more a question than a statement and Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“Desperately. But I’m not… I’m not very experienced.”

“We’ll figure it out. The main thing is lube, and I’ve got that,” Dean replied sheepishly, pulling a packet from his inside pocket.

Cas blinked at the lube, frozen in place like a deer staring down approaching headlights.

“It’s fine, Cas. If you don’t want to, that’s cool. I mean, this isn’t really the most romantic spot for... We can take a step back, talk about—” As Dean stepped backward, letting some air between them, Cas grabbed the waist of Dean’s jeans and yanked him back.

“No,” Cas growled. Moving their clasped hands behind Dean’s back to hold him close and grind against him, Cas slid his other hand up to Dean’s hair. He used that grip to pull Dean’s mouth to his in another deep, passionate kiss.

Though it was plain to see that Cas’s body knew what it wanted, it was also clear he was telling the truth about not being very experienced. But Dean knew this could work. The Angel just needed to get out of his head and let himself react naturally. Sliding his free hand back around Cas’s waist, Dean steered them over toward the mattress on the floor. Once there, he tore his lips from Cas’s and rested their foreheads together, panting heavily.

“Help me outta these jeans?” Dean asked as he flicked open the button and unzipped them one handed.

With a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr, Cas helped wriggle Dean’s jeans and underwear over his hips and down his thighs. The handcuffs made it a bit awkward and Cas glared at the offending accessory as the jeans slipped past Dean’s knees and pooled on the floor.

“We should remove these. I trust you have the key?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, I got the key. But I kinda get the feeling if I take the cuffs off you’re gonna run away.”

Cas looked at the cuffs, thinking, then lifted his gaze to meet Dean’s. “You might be right. I get nervous trying things I don’t already know how to do. I want you, but I don’t want to make a mistake. What if I do it wrong and hurt you? What if I do something that turns you off? What if—”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean soothed, “knock it off with the ‘what ifs’. You wanna know the secret to amazing sex? Less thinking, more doing. I got you. Just follow your instincts and I’ll let you know what I like or if I want something different, ‘kay?” Dean cupped Cas’s cheek with his free hand, running a thumb over his silky, lightly chapped lips.

“I’ll try,” Cas replied, dropping his gaze. He finally took note of Dean’s cock, standing proud, hard and leaking. Trailing a finger slowly up the length, Cas circled the head, smearing precome over the velvety skin. Watching with rapt curiosity, Cas saw the shudder of pleasure that rippled through Dean’s body and his gaze followed the movement upward until his eyes caught Dean’s and held.

Stepping out of his jeans, Dean sank down to the mattress, gently pulling Cas with him. Pressed down by Cas’s weight, Dean rocked up into his rutting hips, head falling back with a moan as those perfect lips nuzzled and nipped along his jaw and throat. Their cuffed hands were clasped together, pressed into the mattress beside Dean’s head and the Angel’s innocent dominance was all kinds of hot.

After making out like teens until they were both rock hard and leaking, Dean slid his knees up Cas’s sides until he could hook his big toes into the elastic waistband of Cas’s pants. Tugging them down was a bit awkward but Dean was soon rewarded with the sight of his Angel’s impressive hard-on straining against the fabric of his grey-blue boxer briefs. Rolling Cas onto his back, Dean used his free hand to tug the cotton pants the rest of the way off as he mouthed over the cloth hiding Cas’s cock, teasing up and down the shaft and licking at the wet spot already forming over the tip.

“Dean,” Cas groaned, unconsciously rocking into the attention on his needy cock.

Chuckling, Dean looked up the length of Cas’s body with a wolfish grin. “Relax, babe. I got you.”

“More,” Cas complained, demanding.

“Here. Up on your knees.” Dean helped Cas kneel, then laid back on the mattress. Bending his knees, Dean lifted his ass to give a better view and handed Cas the packet of lube. “Open it,” he instructed, then held out his free right hand. “Squeeze some on my fingers.” Cas did, and Dean reached around to his own ass, teasing the lube around his tight pucker. ‘Watch,” he breathed, as he pushed past the entrance with a groan at the slight burn. Dean hadn’t bottomed much, but, if he was being honest with himself, he loved it. He couldn’t wait to feel Cas’s thick cock moving inside him.

Cas watched, seemingly entranced, as Dean’s finger disappeared up to the first knuckle, slid out, then back in, this time up to the second knuckle. When Dean moaned as he added a second finger to the first, Cas moaned with him, squeezing their clasped, cuffed hands. Craning his neck to see past his bent legs and raised ass, Dean smirked at the impressive tent in Cas’s boxers, the wet spot much bigger than when he’d been mouthing at it.

“See something you like?” Dean teased.

Not bothering with an answer, Cas covered Dean’s hand with his own, pushing Dean’s fingers deeper and watching his reactions. Grinning, Dean crooked his fingers to hit his prostate and cried out, arching further off the mattress.

“How—” Cas started to ask, brows furrowed.

“Prostate,” Dean interrupted, finally his turn to answer a question before it was fully asked. “You… want me to show you how?” He pulled his fingers out, leaving his hole gaping and twitching in invitation.

Nodding, Cas switched the packet of lube to his cuffed hand and squeezed some onto the fingers of his left hand like he’d done for Dean. He reached toward Dean’s opening, then paused, unsure. Dean took Cas’s hand, folding down all but his index finger, his own finger pressed together with Cas’s. The angle was awkward but Dean was too mesmerized by the fascination on his Angel’s face to let that deter him. He pushed their aligned fingers past his rim, guiding them in and out slowly, showing Cas how to work him open. Then he twisted their fingers, crooking them to brush over that small nest of nerves. Even knowing it was coming, Dean’s body reacted again, cock standing at attention and weeping from the top as his hips arched.

Dean’s finger still in tandem with his, Cas rubbed over Dean’s prostate again and again, intent on Dean’s reactions. He pumped their fingers slowly, learning quickly what Dean liked and what he didn’t. Cas added another finger and Dean groaned, thrusting his hips against their joined hands as his body reached for more, deeper.

“Cas, Angel, please! Need you in me!” Dean begged, pulling his finger out from beside Cas’s with a whimper at the loss.

“Condom?” Cas asked as he slid his fingers out, too.

Dean quickly pulled one from his inside pocket, thankful that their cuffed hands meant they couldn’t take their shirts off, though he planned to correct that the next time they did this.

Cas grabbed the packet, tearing it open with his teeth and messily sliding it on, then slicking it down with more lube. He didn’t seem to need further direction as he lined up and slowly pushed in. Their joined hands wound up planted in the mattress next to Dean’s head again and Cas pulled Dean’s legs up around his waist as he bottomed out, watching Dean intently to gauge his reactions.

Squeezing Cas’s fingers where their hands were clasped, Dean slid his free hand under Cas’s shirt, grazing over his abs before sliding around to his upper back and pulling him closer. Taking the hint, Cas leaned down and kissed him, long and deep, his tongue thrusting in and out of Dean’s mouth suggestively as he swallowed Dean’s moans. As they kissed, Dean’s hips began rocking and after a bit, Cas started moving, too. He set a slow pace of deep thrusts, Dean’s reactions guiding him. Gradually, Cas’s speed increased, his hips pumping harder as he realized he wasn’t hurting Dean.

For his part, Dean didn’t just let his body tell Cas what he liked. “Fuck, yeah! Like that, Cas! Harder! C’mon, Babe, give it to me! I’m not gonna break. Ram that gorgeous cock into me like you mean it! Oh! Fuck! Yeah, yeah, just like that!” Cas was ramming into him, hard, fast, and so damn deep, sweat dripping, hot, gravelly grunts punctuating every thrust to the accompaniment of slapping skin. 

“Dean, I’m almost—” Cas panted.

Wrapping his free hand around his own cock—and grateful that his free hand happened to be his right—Dean began pumping frantically, his own release just as close. “Me too, Cas! So close! Don’t hold back. Wanna feel you come!” Dean cried, legs tightening around Cas’s waist as heat built in his core. The angle shifted as Cas continued driving into Dean’s tight heat and then that amazing cock was hitting his prostate with every thrust, the pleasure jolting through Dean and swiftly dragging him right to the precipice, then rocketing him over.

“Fuck! Cas!!” Dean cried out as he striped his shirts with his release, body tensing with the force of it.

“Dean!!” Cas echoed, hips stuttering as Dean clenched around him. Two more thrusts had him spilling hot and hard into the condom and he continued pounding into Dean as wave after wave of spend pulsed from him. Finally, shuddering and spent, he collapsed onto Dean, heedless of the mess between them.

“Holy fuck, Angel,” Dean mumbled as he rolled them onto their sides. “That was just… wow. Fuck. I can’t even, I just, wow.”

Cas flopped onto his back. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? That was fuckin’ awesome! Seriously. Might even be the best sex I’ve ever had!”

“I meant for the mattress. It isn’t nearly thick enough to be used on top of a concrete floor. You should have said something last night. I could have found something thicker, softer. Or stacked several mattresses together.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

Turning back to Dean, Cas grabbed the edge of the light blanket covering the mattress and wiped the sweat from Dean’s brow. “We should move to my room before we do that again.”

“Again? You wanna go another round? I think I can manage that… if you give me an hour or ten to recover first.” Dean grinned and was rewarded with that throaty chuckle he’d come to love in the past twenty-four hours.

“I didn’t mean immediately.” Cas moved his right hand to cup Dean’s cheek, making the cuffs rattle. “It appears as though you’ve caught me after all,” he commented, glancing at their matching metal jewelry. “Are you going to take me in?”

“I just did.” Smiling, Dean pulled out the key and handed it to Cas. “Let’s take these off and get out of here. Please tell me your room has a tv and a shower.”

Cas took the handcuffs off and rubbed a thumb lightly over Dean’s wrist, then smirked at Dean, one eyebrow raised. “It has one of those things.”

“Which one?”

Cas was already up and opening the complicated lock on the cage. He walked off without answering and Dean scooped up their pants and scrambled after him.

“Seriously, though, which one? Cas?”

Silence.

  


* * *

  


Sam bit his tongue to keep from grumbling out loud. Leave it to Dean to run into trouble during pursuit of a non-violent criminal. Despite the casualties at the heist over two weeks ago, Sam was certain the Dark Angel wasn’t a killer. Which is why, when Dean went radio silent last night, he hadn’t worried too much. Maybe it was a long chase. His brother could have gotten lost and not been able to find his way back to his car. But when he hadn’t heard from him by this morning, Sam knew he’d have to mount a rescue.

That wasn’t the source of Sam’s discontent, though. And it wasn’t the day spent watching satellite feed of the area where he’d lost the signal last night, from both the tracker on Dean’s car and from Dean’s phone. No, Sam’s current complaints were all about the narrow air ducts he was inching his way through. He’d waited for night before going in, but still felt it was safer to enter through the ventilation system than a door. That way he could figure out where any people in the building were and maybe listen in on conversations, have a chance to hear where they were keeping Dean. 

So far, though, every room and warehouse he’d travelled over had been empty. And it was getting hard to breathe in the industrial metal tunnels, though the ducts were much bigger than they’d have been in a smaller building. Coming to another vent, Sam paused and listened. Silence met his ears so he scooted forward and shined his flashlight down through the slats of the vent. There was a desk below him, bare aside from the computer monitor on it. 

Deciding it was as good a place as any to get out of the cramped duct, Sam twisted and pushed at the threads of each bolt until he was able to quietly wiggle the vent cover off, turning it diagonally to pull it up through the opening and set it aside in the duct. After poking his head out to make sure the coast was still clear, Sam grabbed the edge of the opening and slid out, torso first. When his legs finally emerged from the hole, he was hanging from his arms in the up position of a pull-up, head turned to avoid hitting the bottom of the duct. Glancing below to reassess the position of the desk, he slowly let his arms extend, lowering himself in a controlled descent to the desk’s surface. Once he was sure it was sturdy enough to hold his weight, Sam let go of the vent opening and carefully climbed down to the floor. That done, he stopped and listened again. All quiet.

A quick examination of the room didn’t reveal any blueprints showing the interior layout of the warehouse complex or mentions of an area where the Dark Angel might keep a captive, so Sam went to the door and put his ear to it. Was that a rustle of clothing? Sam froze, listening harder. He didn’t hear anything else. No movement, no breathing, no footsteps, nothing. Switching off his flashlight, Sam held his breath, cracked the door open, and peeked through.

Darkness. Silence.

With a sigh of relief, Sam slipped through the door, closing it behind him as he wondered which way to go.

“Took you long enough, Samsquatch,” a peppy tenor voice said as light flooded the hall.

One of Sam’s large hands covered his eyes against the blinding light, even as the other dropped his flashlight and pulled out his gun.

“Hey, now. No need for that. You’re Dean-o’s brother, Sam, right? I’m here to take you to him.”

Sam kept his gun raised, though he wasn’t going to fire it blind. He slowly removed the hand from his eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the brightness. The room had opened halfway down a long, white-painted cinderblock hallway. One direction was clear. The other way, there was a short blond man leaning against the wall next to a light switch. To be fair, compared to Sam, most people looked short. Blondie had one leg crossed over the other, his hands in the pockets of his grey slacks, and what looked like a sucker stick poking out of his mouth. He pulled his fedora lower over his brow, then looked at Sam with a grin as he pulled his cell phone from an inside pocket of his vest. There was the soft click of the phone’s camera, taking a picture of Sam with his gun raised, then the man looked at the screen. 

“Of course, we might want to wait an hour or two. Your big bro’s in my little bro’s room. Right now, I’d guess they’re still doing the horizontal mamba. I don’t know about you, but that’s not something I want to walk in on.”

“Gross,” Sam said, pulling out bitch face number don’t-make-me-think-about-my-brother-that-way. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Name’s Gabriel. Let’s head to the kitchen, see if we can find some ice cream while we wait.”

Sam had no idea what was going on, but the man didn’t seem to pose any danger. Putting his gun back in its holster, Sam headed over to Gabriel. “Any chance there’s green tea ice cream in there?”

“Bite your tongue! Ice cream is supposed to be sweet.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not a big fan of ‘sweet’.”

“Give it time, kiddo. You’ve only just met me.”

  


* * *

  


“So, it’s just you, your brothers, and your hacker, Charlie, workin’ on this crusade of yours, Cas?” At Cas’s nod, Dean continued. “That’s great, but even if _we_ stop comin’ after you, the law and other bounty hunters will still be on your tail.” Dean, Cas, Sam, and Gabriel, who was apparently Cas’s big brother, were seated around a round table in a kitchen that had probably once been a break room.

“Yes, but Sam is the only one who has discovered the pattern to our heists,” Cas replied.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, for now. But someone else is bound to figure it out soon. You need to quit while you’re ahead. I don’t want to have to put up with Dean’s moping if you get caught.”

Dean glared at his brother, mostly to hide the blush staining his cheeks. Cas’s hand found his under the table and squeezed.

“If Mikey hadn’t’a screwed up, the bounty wouldn’t be so high and Cassie wouldn’t be in as much danger. Not that I ever liked this stuff in the first place. Hitting federal armored trucks is just begging for life behind bars,” Gabe grumbled.

“Now there’s a thought,” Sam mused.

“What?” Dean and Cas asked together, and Dean added, “Cas going to jail happens over my dead body!”

“Not that, Dean. This Michael, you said he’s your oldest brother, right?” Sam asked, ignoring his brother.

Cas and Gabriel nodded.

“And he’s a bit overzealous about correcting social injustice, right?”

More nods.

“So what if we took him in as the Dark Angel instead? You’d have to stop doing robberies, but you could continue your work in other ways. Maybe expose some of these corrupt politicians and charities online or transfer their stolen money electronically. If Michael’s as committed to the cause as you say, maybe he’d agree to let us take him in if it meant you could continue your work? And he could give you coded messages on corruption he finds in prison, either through letters or when you visit him. No one would think anything of you corresponding with or visiting your brother and he could identify guards taking bribes or criminals still running their organizations from the inside. He looks enough like Cas from the back that Dean didn’t notice the difference, and the only picture they have of the Dark Angel’s face is blurry and grainy. Heck, even if the feds have found any DNA evidence he’d still be a partial match, since you’re brothers.”

Cas’s brows furrowed. “That’s—”

“Brilliant, Samshine!” Gabriel interjected. “That solves everything.”

“But letting Michael take the blame for me seems—”

“Cas, c’mon, man. He’s the one who committed murder, not you. And we’ve just found each other. Do you really want to limit the rest of our lives to conjugal visits? Besides, Michael will get to keep doing good without you having to worry about him shooting someone again. It’s a win-win. You could even start up your own charity and make sure the donations go to the right places,” Dean coaxed.

“The rest of our lives?” Cas asked, head cocked to the side, eyes wide.

Dean blushed. “I mean, you know, maybe? If this thing between us goes as good as it started, I think—”

Cas grabbed Dean’s shirt and pulled him in, kissing him thoroughly and halting his floundering. When they finally separated, Cas gave him a grin. “I think that sounds wonderful, Dean.”

The End :D

**Author's Note:**

> Things that didn’t get mentioned or explained in the story:  
> Bobby is in the FBI, with his partner Rufus. He’s the one who turned Sam and Dean onto hunting the Dark Angel. He gives them jobs now and then, when he figures his ‘idjit boys’ can do them without getting themselves killed like their dad.
> 
> Those long, bare hallways? From inside the rooms, the doors are like regular doors. But on the outside, they’re covered with faux white-painted cinderblock and have no handle, so they’re almost indistinguishable from the wall unless you know where they are and how to get them to open :D
> 
> Gabriel owns the entire warehouse complex on the industrial cul-de-sac and has modified it to suit his needs. Most of it is used for legitimate business, of course, but there are hidden areas used by cas and charlie for stashing money and charlie’s brat-cave. (yeah, we didn’t get to meet charlie or her computer hub in the story.)
> 
> (speaking of) Charlie. she’s the same lovable charlie as in canon, dean just assumed cas’s hacker was male and cas never corrected him.
> 
> Cas wears his trench coat for jobs because he wears a black, body armor suit under it and thinks the trench coat looks less suspicious for when he’s driving to and from the heists. Not so sure if he’s right on that one though hehe.
> 
> You can guess which cas doesn’t have in his room, right? If you really want a definitive answer, it’s the tv. He’s got a shower but doesn’t like having a tv in his bedroom.
> 
> Let me know if any of you have a question i haven’t answered. Sorry there’s more story than what’s written, but seriously, my brain supplies me with so many details that every ‘short’ story could wind up over 100k if i included everything >.<
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Comments, Questions, Corrections, and Suggestions always welcome and encouraged! :D and kudos are cool! Just one button click and they give me so much encouragement!


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